We're living a lie on both sides
by sailorswithhearts
Summary: The truth is, I don't hate you, you stupid, stupid girl. I don't hate you at all. It's easier for me to feel that way about myself. The truth is, I think you're beautiful. DracoParvati drabble.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to the lovely and talented J.K. Rowling. I do not own them.  
Oh the things I would do if I did own Draco Malfoy...

Reviews are greatly appreciated! I may doa follow up on this one from Parvati's point of view, but I haven't decided yet.

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Pretty Little Parvati Patil.  
You sicken me.  
With your Gryffindor bravery, your typical teenage girl mentality, your stupid girlish habits, and the fact that you choose to be friends with muggle-borns. Especially that damned Granger, who is one of those obnoxious bitches who knows everything about everything, and knows that she knows everything about everything.  
I have to tell myself these things about you. I have to make myself hate you. Slytherins aren't supposed to love Gryffindors.  
I'm not supposed to care about you. I know this is how the world works. 

So I hate you instead. I say cruel things to you, things that make you angry, things that make you hate me and go cry to your best friend, Lavender Brown. I think maybe you do hate me sometimes.  
Because maybe, maybe if you hated me, it would be easier for me to get rid of these feelings for you. Maybe if I pretended to hate you, then I'd start believing it. Maybe I would forget how I feel whenever I'm around you and how I just want to kiss you midsentence and undo all this not-doing in one small gesture.  
It is doubtful, but maybe, just maybe, I can pretend. You know, it isn't so hard for me to pretend anymore.  
I pretend that things aren't this way. I pretend that my father isn't a Death Eater. I pretend that I won't follow in his footsteps. I pretend that we aren't on opposing sides when it comes to these matters. I pretend that I fell in love with you when I first saw you. I pretend that when I fuck Pansy, it's you, and instead of just raw fucking with Pansy, you and I are making love.

You silly girl, you have no idea what you do to me.  
You are constantly in my thoughts and I cannot concentrate in Potions because you sit right in front of me. So close that I could reach out and touch you.  
I actually took Divinations this year. Not because I wanted to be in the class, but rather, to be in there with you.  
You have almost a passion for that class, and you're incredibly bright when it comes to this apparent "inner eye"  
I'm pathetic. Not just in terms of my Divination grade, but because I took the class to be closer to you.  
I want to scream in your face sometimes. I know exactly what I'd say if I did.

The truth is, I don't hate you, you stupid, stupid girl.  
I don't hate you at all.  
It's easier for me to feel that way about myself.  
The truth is, I think you're beautiful.

I watch you. You've caught me staring every now and then, but you probably didn't think much of it.  
I know that you almost always sit with Lavender when we eat in the Great Hall. If it isn't Lavender, then you sit with Dean or Seamus. I know that you despise Pansy Parkinson. (and in a way, I'm starting to as well) I know that you always roll your uniform skirt up, but when McGonagall walks by, you roll it back down. I know that you have a butterfly hairclip, as well as many others, that McGonagall refuses to let you wear to her class. I know that you wear them anyway. I know that you went to the Yule Ball in third year with Harry Potter. I know that I hate Harry Potter, and I have never hated him more than when he walked into the Great Hall with you on his arm that night. I know that I hated him even more when he wouldn't dance with you,  
but sat there making eyes at Cho Chang instead. I know that I wanted to ask you to dance more than anything that night, but Pansy would not leave my side. I know that you left with a Beauxbatons boy at the end of the night, and I desperately wanted it to be me instead.  
I know a lot about you, Miss Patil, and I notice more things than you'd think.

I wonder why I always think this way.  
Love is a stupid, useless emotion, but if such an idiotic thing were to exist, maybe this would be it. Then I realize that I am lying to myself because my feelings are not returned by you. It becomes less of this apparent "love" feeling, and more of an obsession.  
Well, yes. I suppose I am obsessed with you, Parvati Patil.

I'm tired of lying to myself about this.  
I'm not sure if I can tell you the truth.  
I need more options.  
I'm lying to you in so many actions, and I don't know what the fuck is going on.  
I've done this so often that it is hard to draw the line between what is the truth and what isn't.  
It's like one of our inside jokes, only it isn't funny.  
It would be funny, if it wasn't my heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Oh, you know the drill. J.K. Rowling owns them, not me. 

This is a continuation of the first part, from Parvati's perspective this time.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

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I see you looking at me and my heart skips a beat. I wonder why you would even bother to look in my direction.  
You tend to be doing this a lot lately. I can't come up with a reason, other than the fact that you probably think I'm an idiot.  
Oh Draco, I'm not as much of an idiot as you'd like to think.  
You assume that I know nothing, that when it comes to Potions, I'm not observant at all.  
Maybe I'm not observant in Potions, but I do know a few things about you.  
I know that your father is a Death Eater. I like to think that you won't turn out the same way, but I know that you ultimately will. I know that you have a hatred for Harry Potter. Actually, the entire school knows that. I will always remember the expression on your face, as Harry and I entered the Great Hall, where the Yule Ball was taking place. You looked at us with such abhorrence and disgust. Hatred was almost radiating from your steely grey eyes. I know you are dating Pansy Parkinson, although I'm not sure if you can actually call it "dating." I can tell that you don't really like her. I'm sure you're just keeping her around because she will constantly shag you whenever you happen to be in the mood. I know that you are a Pureblood. You're extremely proud of it, and you look down upon any muggle-borns, or those with mixed blood. This is evident as it is an almost constant war between you and Hermione Granger.

All I know about you are the facts. Surely this can't be everything. I'm dying to know more about you. There's more than this,  
I'm positive. I wonder if it is all a facade and you're just doing this to impress your father. You could potentially be trying to maintain your status as "Slytherin Badass" throughout the school.  
There are many, many misconceptions about me. Maybe it is the same with you. Maybe we have more in common than you think.  
I know what it feels like to have to live up to the expectations of over-bearing parents. I know what it feels like for them to tell you that whatever you do isn't good enough. I know what it feels like to live in constant fear of rejection. I know what it feels like to have everyone stereotype you as something that you are not.

I've watched you before. It must be so easy for you to lie to everyone's faces without blinking, as your tongue effortlessly slides around all your stories.  
I wonder why you hate me so much, now more than before.  
Do you ever think of me? I'm sure you don't.  
I want to be angry with you. You always say such hurtful things to me. For some reason, no matter how hard I try to get rid of them, your words always stay. I really want to hate you, spit at your feet, hit your face with my hands.  
You always know what to say to make me feel incredibly lame or stupid.  
I can't. I can't do it. I cannot hate you.  
I cannot hate you because I am so in love with you. I see so much of myself in you and so much of you in me, and I want to hate it. I want to hate my stubborness and my conceit.  
I'm wanting so much from so far away, and it kills me to think that you don't care. You barely know who I am. It must be so easy for you to write me off as just another girl, just another stupid little Gryffindor.  
I must be an idiot to be in love with you. I must be a fucking masochist to keep loving you and getting nothing in return. I'm only bringing on more heartache for myself, and I try not to think about you all the time. I try to ignore you as you pass me in the hall. I try not to think about how good you look in your Quidditch uniform during a match. I try, I try, I try and I fail.  
I don't want to fall in love with you, but I guess I already have.  
Maybe it is because you're incredibly beautiful, only it is the kind not everyone can see.  
They can't get past your cocky attitude, your superiority complex, your Death Eater heritage, and your Slytherin Pride.  
You are such a git.

You are constantly laughing at the Gryffindors with an attitude that would challenge that of Salazar Slytherin himself.  
Sometimes I think that you laugh because you are too scared to cry.  
We are so much alike, I know you don't realize it.  
It must be repulsive for you to even consider sharing any similarities with a Gryffindor.  
We both have hearts beating in our chests, the only difference is that I use mine.  
I wish you could tell me everything. I want to see what is beneath that tough shell of yours, beneath your scaly dragon skin.  
What are your emotions? Do you even have emotions?  
Maybe if I knew, then I wouldn't have to wonder why you don't feel anything.  
I suppose I'll never know because I mean nothing to you and it kills me.  
I'm tired of the constant competition between houses. I'm tired of having to choose sides in terms of Voldemort. I'm tired of people being separated into different categories according to their blood line. None of it matters anyway. I'm just so tired of all of this.  
Would you be different then? Would you still wear a mask to hide yourself?  
I want to see who you truly are, behind the green and silver tie and the signature smirk.  
You wouldn't tell me anyway, I know you wouldn't. I'm nothing to you, and I wantso badly for that to change. More than anything, actually. The only time you ever acknowledge my presence is when you are calling me dim and brainless.  
I'm not like that at all, I promise. I'm willing to prove you wrong if you just let me in.  
I really want to hold your hand. I'd even hold your hand in front of my mother.  
Just let down your guard.  
What are you afraid of?

You come off as being so bitter and cruel. You make me feel little and you make me doubt myself. You take the fact that I love you for granted. You don't even know how I feel about you.  
You call me a bitch, slut, idiot, tart, moron, whore, tramp, wench.  
Oh god, do it again. I want you to feel the way you've scarred me.


End file.
